No Direction
by HeadinCloud
Summary: Hey Arnold characters are in 7th grade at P.S.118 in this story. Certain kids are discovering alcohol for the first time, and the word is spreading amongst their peers. What angst and fluff will manifest with this plot device? Find out for yourself :  H/A
1. Chapter 1

The serious, dark green chalk boards seemed to summarize the feeling of P.S.118's student body. The town had dilapidated before their eyes. The school system was shot for funds, and each year the educational promise of public school's like P.S.118 seemed to slump further than the last. The city was ranked among the lowest in the state in terms of academic progress. Naturally, more students began to dabble in debauchery from the lack of mental stimulation. It soon became more a prison than an educational institution. And everyone began looking out for number one in light of hard times, and cliques became even more exclusive and tightly wound as if some evolutionary reaction to survive had been struck at the dawn of the foreclosure scandal that left the country on its knees.

Arnold walked up the school's entrance of concrete steps that were decorated with bird crap, trash and the occasional cigarette butt stamped into the surface. The sky was overcast, the clouds brooding darkly and marauding overhead. Periodically, it would sprinkle, but it only seemed to come in brief intervals to chill exposed body parts and kiss cheeks of students wadding along to class.

He looked down at his watch worriedly. He was 13 minutes late, walking with hurried, long steps. Opening the classroom door his eyes met his teacher's deep green irises that matched the oppressive, green chalk boards that reminded everyone of just how archaic the classrooms had actually become. It was like some sort of indication that he was a part of the whole, ruined system. Some teachers had become like police officers that held back fiery protesters against a malevolent, corrupt government. It all felt very wrong, but at the end of the day, he was a kid, and what could he do?

Their teacher wore a white-collared shirt that he tucked snugly into his army green trousers. To pull the look together he wore a black tie and chocolate brown penny loafers. He stood at a solid six feet tall, with receding, brunette hair and intellectual, thin framed glasses. His dead, tired eyes were matched by a bored, though constantly irritated monotone. He was the kind of person that seemed to always be having a bad day. Hearing his peevish voice was like nails on a dark green chalk board to Arnold, "Ah, so glad you could join us."

Arnold didn't like the man, but he respected authority for his own purposes. He didn't like to get his hands dirty with defiance when he'd much prefer blending in with the ranks, and just being left alone, "Sorry, I just missed the-"

The teacher cut him off, uninterested, "Please, save your excuses. Just take your seat, and we'll continue where we left off."

Arnold trudged to his seat, pturbed by the man's petulance and lack of concern. He didn't even consider the fact that Arnold was not only one of his top students, but also fairly punctual. It didn't matter. The man just wanted an excuse to bitch and moan and flex his authority over whichever student had the misfortune of accidentally interrupting his uncompromisingly dry, tedious lecture.

Arnold sat down quietly, and crossed his arms on his desk. His cornflower-colored hair fell forward a bit from the extra weight of the drizzling rain. As he reached over to his left side to retrieve his notebook he caught his friend Gerald's eye, who wore an inquisitive look. He whispered, "Hey, what happened, man?"

Arnold eyes fell half-lidded, a bit irritated by the memory behind his explanation. He whispered back, "I missed the bus, and grandpa's packard's in the shop."

Gerald sighed, "You had me worried. I thought you were still sick."

Arnold smiled lightly, "Nah, I'm all better."

Gerald jested insincerely, "I was just worried I'd have to sit through another day of Ben Stein lectures without anyone to complain to."

Arnold laughed beneath his breathe and drew his eyes back to his notebook, readying his black, mechanical pencil. He tried to focus in on the lecture despite the restlessness of some his peers.

The back of the class was always littered with conversation- some covert and others less tactful. The back was where most of the delinquents and charlatans sat. The kept their faces in the shadows where they could plan their mischief and crack crass and obscene jokes for the rest of the class to faintly hear and appreciate (or not appreciate). Many were new faces, but plenty remained from the original P.S.118 bunch.

Nadine and Rhonda were still around, and surprisingly still best friends, though their friendship was marred with constant bickering and tension, and frequent passive aggressive personal attacks. Rhonda still wore the best clothes in school, but Nadine had evolved into something of a reggae fanatic. She wore beanies and let her corn rolls down that she now dyed a dark brown, and was turning into something of an edgy, intellectual beauty that oddly complimented Rhonda's conventional style and looks. Their polar opposite nature was what made the pair such a dynamic and interesting duo to be around.

Sid was still around. His black hair now dragged to the back of his neck like one of the Beatles. He still sported the tacky onyx, leather jacket, but preferred brown boots to his old white, heeled pair. His green baseball cap was still spun proudly backward. His family had been swindled in the foreclosure mess, and they were currently living with his aunt's in cramped quarters. He hated being there, and made an intentional effort to be home as little as possible. He was one of the first kids anybody knew to try alcohol, though people often got the vibe he was exaggerating his endeavors.

Curly had finally stopped his mother form using cereal bowls to cut his hair. He had stopped the practice when Rhonda had teased him about the crude style and made him something of a momentary spectacle to his fifth grade class. Utter embarrassment was his best friend in this particular situation, though. Growing out his hair and paying for more professional haircuts had improved his popularity, if only slightly, and over time his reputation of being a total weirdo fell away. However, he was still a bizarre kid. He would often make inappropriate, morbid jokes that would turn his less liberal minded peers off. Naturally, he found acceptance in the back rows alongside the other rebels, freaks and outcasts. Though he was still considered to have a few screws loose he always seemed to have some insane plan, which would promise entertainment, alongside ridiculous and often hilarious outcomes. Under the psychological knife he might have been considered manic for his actions were often impulsive and half-baked. He was certainly never a bore.

Lastly of the P.S.118 originals in the back row was the ever-scowling Helga Pataki. She was thin and a bit lanky with small, budding preteen breasts. She often wore long-sleeved shirts that looked a size too large with tight, worn jeans. Her hair was in two pigtails that day, but she often switched from ponytail to pigtails throughout the week. Instead of her gawky, childish pink bow she chose to wear a thick, pink hairband instead. She had a dingy brown, bomber jacket over her white thermal as she had her head turned most entirely toward the last row where she chatted idly to Nadine. Her features were soft, but serious, and her complexion milky. She had plucked her unibrow out of vanity she tried to pretend she didn't possess, but she still had thick, distinctive eyebrows. She had been labeled by the school's staff as severely troubled in the fourth grade when her violent outbursts had got her sent to a psychiatrist. Her relations with her teachers held deep frictions since, but her peers had come to respect her- especially when she cut back on the bullying a bit. She frequently said what was on other student's minds, but what they didn't have the courage, or the energy to say. Her brutal honesty was part of what maintained her faithful recidivism to detention hall. She often got into fights, and ditched class on a regular basis. There was a rumor spreading that she had been caught smoking marijuana in the girls bathroom with Nadine, but no one could say for sure.

She had a water bottle on her desk that's label had been torn away and left an ugly remainder. She passed it to Nadine every once in a while, and the two would laugh. Helga had lost Phoebe to a private school for gifted students after fifth grade. They promised to keep in touch, but Phoebe's studies overwhelmed her, and Helga was terrible with procrastinating on such matters, but from time to time one or the other would send a letter, updating the other on their lives and wishing well.

Helga reached for her water bottle and turned around taking a gulp, and set it down. On her turn around she locked eyes with their pissy professor tapping his foot obstinately and waiting in silence for their conversation to close. He pointed with a wooden yard stick, "If you want to have a conversation you can take it outside."

Helga smiled wisely, inspired by the intoxicating contents of her water bottle, "Really? Well if I knew that was an option I'd have left a long time ago."

Helga stood up from her seat, bluffing her exit, "You sit down right now, young lady!"

She paused and then fell into her seat heavily, emphasizing her weight as she crashed dramatically into her seat to comically emphasize her lackluster at the response she had seen a mile coming. Their teacher's bushy brow fell heavily over his eyes and his face went pink with indignation, "Don't you give me attitude! If I hear one more word from you its Saturday school."

Even under the influence the words 'Saturday school' were enough a threat for her to close her trap and submit. It just wasn't worth it in that instance. She darted her pupils away from his as her only display of defiance for which he was secretly grateful.

Arnold watched the little spat play out. He had always been amused by the back row students and found them almost endearing in their own mixed-up way. Helga was particularly thick-skinned, but he often pitied her. She seemed unhappy underneath it all, like there was something fitful and pained just beneath the surface. Unlike the other back row students she would often read during classes, draw or write poetry. She had artistic impulses and an intellectual mind that always seemed to be picking the world apart. When she wasn't being self-effacing or myopically bitter, she carried some of the most meaningful and intelligent conversations Arnold could recall.

Arnold was startled and torn from his malaise as the school bell sang out its high pitched shriek of freedom. Lunch carried on without any exceptional highlights. He sat with his best friend Gerald, a handsome, scruffy boy with zits named Oslo, and his old friend Stinky who hadn't seemed to change much other than for the light side-burns he wore proudly.

Stinky gawked at Gerald's sandwich, nearly salivating, "You reckon I could get a bite of that?"

Gerald rolled his eyes and scoffed disbelievingly, "No way, man. This is my turkey, cheese sandwich. Doesn't your dad make you lunch?"

Stinky looked at his pathetic, brown sack with his named written quaintly in red sharpie, "Yeah, but pa doesn't know how to make nothin' right. He just puts peanut butter on bread and wraps it in cellophane. A man can't live on just bread and peanut butter."

Gerald joked languidly as he pulled out a pudding pack from his own paper bag lunch sack, "...and cellophane, don't forget cellophane."

Arnold had been picking at the school's cafeteria food. Today's entree was macaroni and cheese with thick, pasty orange sauce on partially dry noodles alongside what appeared to be another tasteless helping of the school's recycled creamed-corn. Lastly was the pudding with the layer of film on top, which no kid, other than Curly, was likely to consume in good faith. Arnold had hoped it was a jello day, but alas, the day didn't seem to be doing him any favors so far.

"What do you say Arnold? I'll trade you this here peanut-bread sandwich for your cafeteria food."

Arnold shook himself from his introverted state at Stinky's bargain. He weighed the proposal for a moment before making his decision, "Okay, but I get to keep my milk."

Stinky lit up like a Christmas tree, "You got yourself a deal."

As they switched their meager bargain chips across the table they were approached by Helga who trailed Rhonda, Sid and Nadine. She leaned on the table, making her presence known unabashedly with her palms flat on the tabletop, "Are you boys doing anything special this fine afternoon?"

Oslo broke in, his voice cracking through, "Nothing much, I guess."

Gerald took on an heir of apprehension, "Why? Are you?"

Arnold just observed, taking a bite of his plain sandwich and chewing thoroughly. He was always prone to quiet observation. Either that or endless daydreaming.

Helga bragged falsely, "Well, I don't know if you're into it, but Curly swiped some vodka from his dad's liquor cabinet. You gotta love the crazy twit."

Sid cut Helga off, almost unable to contain himself, "It's 80 proof, but we mix it with cranberry juice!"

Gerald spoke up first, with a dash of hesitance to his voice, "Uh, maybe some other time."

Helga looked to the others, "Well?"

Oslo chimed in, scratching the back of his neck in a fit of inner conflict, "I think my mom would kill me if I did. Sorry."

Stinky piped in passionately, "I don't wanna end up a crumb bum, no thank you."

Helga was at the comment like a shark to blood, "You think one drink is gonna promise you a future of destitution? Come on, you can't be serious."

Stinky retorted with simple, country logic, "All I know is what I know."

Helga scoffed at the infuriatingly dim argument, "Brilliant. Well, I guess we'll see you guys later then."

Oslo pushed his light brown hair from his face and choked on his speech, attempting to overcome his changing vocal chord's insistence on making puberty excruciatingly awkward, "What about, Arnold?"

Helga had started her onward saunter, but was pulled back by the comment. She laughed, "Arnold? Pssh, why would I even waste my time with mister goody two shoes? The farthest he's ever strayed from the straight and narrow was this morning when he showed up a measly ten-minutes late."

She sighed from the fit of laughter the notion had encouraged, wiping a non-existent tear from her eye, "Yeah, that'll be the day."

Bothered by the assumption, Arnold finally spoke up, "Hey, I'm not perfect all the time."

Helga smiled cheekily, amused by Arnold's defensiveness, "Oh, really? Is that how you see it? Let me tell you something bucko- I bet I can forecast your whole predictable life in a couple sentences. Let's see- you get good grades now. You'll get good grades in high school. You'll get good grades in college. You'll get married, have a few kids, and then you'll die. Sound about right? I bet you'd be happy if that were your life- I bet you WANT that to be your life."

Arnold countered with annoyance, "Well what's your 'great' life gonna be like then? You think it'll be much better?"

Helga's face went serious as she went into debate mode, popping some gum into her mouth to appear indifferent, whilst smacking the gum loudly, "My life is going to have some substance. I'm not just gonna fall into the cookie-cutter mold and cling to all that out-dated American dream crap. I'm gonna do something different- something worthwhile. I'm not gonna be like you sitting behind an office desk typing away for some corporate machine like a freakin' monkey that's all I know."

Arnold felt wounded by the accusation, and his eyes fell to his friends, "C'mon, I'm not gonna end up like that. I'm not like that- am I? C'mon, back me up, guys."

Their was silence for a moment, but Gerald filled it in, but not with the answer Arnold was hoping to hear, "You are kinda cookie-cutter sometimes."

Arnold protested, "Hey, I've done stuff. We played hooky that one day, remember?"

Helga poked fun at the desperate statement, "Yeah, emphasis on ONE day." She laughed at her own wit," See ya' in the funny papers, Arnold."

_

The rest of the day Arnold was stuck in his head in a conflict over Helga's accusations. He didn't view himself as cookie-cutter, and he strongly felt he was being misinterpreted. He was just more introverted and casual about life. He didn't have any desire to be some kind of anarchist punk like the kids in the back row. But at the same time he DID kind of want all the things Helga said he'd want out of life, well, other then the desk job. Perhaps he WAS living in some kind of fictitious, idealistic dreamworld. He wondered if he never took any risks would he miss out on a unique life entirely in the end like Helga had predicted?

As he walked home these thoughts pulverized his head like tiny rubber bouncing balls that ricocheted violently in every which direction. He walked up the steps of the boarding house noticing the stains on its outer walls that accumulated and stood as a reminder of time's passing.

He walked into the kitchen to see his grandfather sitting over a bowl of soup looking vacantly into the steaming bowl. Arnold greeted him despondently, "Hey, grandpa."

Phil looked up and beamed gladly at the sight of his grandson, "Hey, shortman. How was school?"

Grandma had passed away the year before, and left him with an awful, staying feeling of lonesomeness. Whenever Arnold returned from school it was like his whole world was made a little brighter just by his company. It pained Arnold to know this, but nonetheless they had each other, and they still had the boarders, which was like having one big, crazy extended-family.

Arnold walked into the kitchen, and poured himself some of the soup that invited him with a rich, tomato-y aroma, "It was okay."

He sat down across from grandpa, and made eye-contact before attending to his dinner, "Grandpa, do you think I'm a goody two shoes?"

Grandpa finished a sip from his metal spoon's cradle, "Now who went and told you that?"

Arnold responded vaguely, too lazy to go into details, "Just some kids."

Grandpa fiddled with his spoon, passing it from finger to finger as he thought allowed, "Well, I can't lie, boy, you're a good kid. But that's no reason to get upset- it's a good thing. Makes things a lot easier for me."

"Do you think my life's gonna turn out trite and dull?", Arnold asked anxiously.

Grandpa set his spoon down, realizing he wasn't going to get a good sip inbetween the conversation, "Well, I don't know about trite...mostly cause I don't know what that means, but certainly not dull. No, I can't imagine any kid of your parents' turning out dull- you're just practical."

Arnold felt a little more at ease by his grandfather's reassurance, "Thanks grandpa. That helps."

As he turned his attention to his soup grandpa broke in, "But you gotta take risks sometimes- sometimes you gotta make bad decisions to learn from 'em- to really figure out who you are, and more importantly who you're not."

Arnold took the wise words in mindfully and bent his head back down toward his soup, "Thanks grandpa."

Phil smiled, glad to be of use, "No problem, shortman, no problem."

After a few moments of silence Phil chimed in again, wanting to extend his sermon, but losing his audience, "- and if you ever get caught you plead ignorance. You hear me, Arnold, plead ignorance."

Arnold tried to end the conversation by simply repeating himself in a less sincere tone, "Thanks grandpa."

Grandpa responded obliviously, "You got it, shortman."


	2. Chapter 2

He woke with heavy eyelids that lifted languidly, laying on his back and wincing at the quilt of gray patchwork that stretched over the sky. The clouds were so dense that the sun had no place, and his room appeared muted in color for its absence. Laying in bed he licked his dry lips and took notice of a light layer of film that had coated overnight on his teeth. His throat was dry and his mind was frozen in a tired, morning malaise. He stirred from the fetal position and reluctantly removed his dark blue comforter and sheets.

His alarm hadn't gone off yet, but he seemed to have something of a mental alarm clock radio, and once it had woken him there was no turning back. He sat for a few minutes on his bedside, his shoulders raised and his arms standing parallel to his torso that hunched over and created a small pot belly that otherwise did not exist.

The sound of crows cawing and the drone of his fan were the only noises that permeated his bedroom walls. It was pleasant and rewarding to hear, despite the grogginess that still sat in his mind.

Breakfast was quiet and mundane. Arnold scooped mindlessly through a bowl of off-brand cheerios whilst grandpa and Mr. Nguyen drank coffee, and shared different sections of the same newspaper. Occasionally they would discuss what they read to one another, but mostly there was a comfortable silence. Of all the boarders to deal with in the morning- Mr. Nguyen was certainly the most tolerable. He tended to keep to himself, which Arnold appreciated because of his need to slowly acclimate to the task of being awake each morning.

After a couple cartoons and a good listen to a few songs from a new album he had bought he decided to head for the bus stop. The walk was what usually brought him to consciousness, especially on brisk winter days such as those. At the bus stop he sat across from a tall, lanky man with short brown curls and a pair of thick, black-framed glasses resting on a prominent hooked nose. The stranger seemed to be in his mid thirties and was always reading when Arnold arrived.

He sat on the bench, leaving a large space between him and the man. He folded his fingers and dangled his feet that didn't quite rest on the side-walk, and looked downward, lost in thought.

He recalled his conversation with his grandfather, and his disagreement with Helga. He wanted to prove her wrong, and grandpa's sentiments had been encouraging to this end. He fell victim to his pontifications until the screech of braking tires startled him from his introspective stupor. He shook his head only slightly, trying to refocus on the "now" as he boarded the city bus.

He arrived to class in a timely manner. He opened his notebook and pulled out an assignment he knew to be due at the beginning of the class, and commenced to doodle crude sketches to distract himself until the other students filled in.

Gerald came into class, looking bored and dead inside like every pupil that entered the classroom. Seating himself beside Arnold, Gerald took a bite of a red licorice stick he had smuggled into class.

Gerald whispered as he waggled the limp red straws beneath his desk, "You want?"

Arnold smiled and took one as stealthily as he could. Their teacher was too busy grading homework he had procrastinated grading from days before to notice anything occurring in the room before the first bell rang. Arnold smiled genially, "Thanks."

Before he could take a bite, however, it was snatched from his hands. Helga had walked by, "haha, thanks football head." She shoved the first quarter of the chewy candy inside her mouth and laughed with a mouth full of red gunk as Nadine smirked humorously at the situation.

Arnold glared at Helga with a muted annoyance. Holding the straw in her right hand she rolled her eyes and smiled, "Calm down. It's just licorice."

Mr. Swanson tapped his finished papers together to make an even pile, and stood abruptly, "Alright everyone, I have an announcement." After shushing his pupils he continued, "I thought we could have fun in this class, and all agree to be responsible..."

"...but it seems that this class can't handle that kind of independence and trust." Their teacher pressed his lips together tightly and let that expression stay for dramatic effect, only to emphasize his discontent. After the divisive pause he continued, "I've devised a new seating chart for our classroom. I want you all to come to the front."

The class erupted in groans of disappointment as they begrudgingly gathered toward the front of the room like cattle navigating through aisles and rows.

Like any normal seating chart it defied all logic and seemed structured as if at random. Harmless, docile individuals were isolated from friends, while disruptive kids remained in earshot of their comrades. However, Gerald and Arnold were significantly distanced by four rows and a column from one another. Gerald sat in the second to last right back corner nearest to the exit, while Arnold sat in the far left desk three rows back, against the windows looking out the second story onto the playground. Gerald sat behind a greasy kid that picked his nose and smelled of b.o., but fortunately he was redeemed by sitting beside his latest romantic interest- Nadine.

The day had taken its first bad turn, but he knew it would likely be less distracting to sit next to people he didn't relate to, or know well. Curly sat behind Arnold, and Sid and Rhonda sat in the two seats in front of him. At his right was Helga who scribbled through her notebook incessantly, and never seemed to pay a parcel of attention to anything being discussed in the classroom. He was surrounded by the old back row, excluding a past friend of Eugene's that sat diagonally in front of him taking official 'cornell' style notes and adjusting his heavy, circular frames from time to time in between sniffles.

"Hey...Pssst...Hey, Arnold." Helga whispered.

Arnold looked over with a blank expression and his pencil in hand, "What?"

"Can I borrow that real quick?" Helga asked innocently as she pointed toward the object of her attention.

"...My homework? ..No." Arnold's eyes darted to their teacher instinctively whose back was turned as her wrote instructions on the chalk board.

"Please, please football head. I totally forgot about it, and my dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I failed another take home quiz."

"Why would I? You stole my licorice...and you JUST called me football head."

Helga groaned beneath her breathe in frustration, "Look I'll owe you one okay?"

Arnold sighed, "Ugh fine, just take it."

Helga reached for the paper and began madly replicating answers, which since she was always face down in her personal writings didn't call much attention. Regardless, Arnold hated himself for giving in, but he just wanted to be left alone for the time being.

As their teacher overviewed the chapters last studied in their US History textbooks Arnold tried to distract himself from the crinkled evidence of his misconduct that Helga possessed. It wasn't too hard, and he found himself actually listening to the lecture being given in order to fork the road in his thoughts.

Arnold surrounded himself in the tales of Napoleon and the Louisiana Purchase and the crooked concept of Manifest Destiny. He rest his head on his hands and closed his eyes and drifted in thought as his teacher's droning voice kept a steady, hypnotic rhythm.

As he sat in a state of slouched immobility he heard a subtle noise. It came to him again in the softest tone like the sound of a small crashing wave. It came again and it was followed by another sound he recognized, which he found to be his classmates snickering.

He came to and opened his eyes when he identified the second sound, only to hear the first noise come into translation, "Arnold!"

Realizing it was Helga in an angered whispering tone, he became startled remembering every thought he had banished related to her at the moment. When he turned to see her she pulled back her hand from him that appeared to be holding his borrowed assignment whilst looking behind Arnold toward the front of the room.

It was clear to him what had just happened in that instant. They had been caught.


	3. Chapter 3

Helga walked behind her peers as they flooded out of the classroom in a frenzy of adolescent elation. The last class on a Friday afternoon always led to these mass breaks for freedom leaving the halls crowded and alive with premature enthusiasm. Her mind spun lazily as she lifted her feet consciously trying to tread a straight path. She had thought the effects of the alcohol would have worn off before the days end, but she still felt a good pull from the drink. As students grazed by she observed their demeanor with slurred judgmental thoughts and occasional bouts of paranoia when teachers' heads would bob through the sea of students.

She finally found solace in the girl's restroom where she locked herself in a stall and sat on a cold toilet seat to collect herself. She pulled the familiar pink detention slip from her pocket watching it blur from focus and visually swim. She had nearly forgotten the incident from her first period class. She hung her head over the note as if in prayer, clutching the paper in her hands. Something like regret suggested itself to her in this moment's daze. But she pulled herself upward, leveraging her weight with the stall door. After a five minute sulking she opened the stall, hoping hallway traffic had eased.

She emerged into the hall whilst mindlessly attempting to find her cell-phone in her disheveled backpack. As usual it was lost in a torrent of papers, pens, books and candy wrappers. Her hands grasped fruitlessly and she felt a familiar frustration boil up from her throat into a gnashing growl. She conceded her attempts and made for the closest bench just outside the hall doors. She reached aggressively through her things, quickly spying her pink plastic phone.

She read the time on the face, and exhaled lightly. She still had fifteen minutes to get to detention. In relief, she rest her head against the wall and enjoyed her inebriated state despite her better judgment. There was simply nothing that could be done about her situation at this point, and knowing this gave her an odd sense of comfort. Her heart felt lighter for the thought, but she worked to bury it. Her best hope was to play off her symptoms well, and though she had no real proof of her ability to act, she somehow sensed she had the gift. After all, she had been so successful so many times in fooling others. And what else is an actor, but a professional liar?

She opened her eyes stepping off the pedestal inside her mind that had been plugging a false sense of competence, and got her things together. She stood heavily as if her bag were weighted with barbells and heaved it onto her back like a hated chore. She stood still for a moment, trying to gauge her sense of equilibrium.

"What are you still doing here?"

Helga stiffened and turned abruptly, frightened by the thrown voice, "Huh?"

Over her shoulder she saw Arnold standing behind her, holding one black strap from his dark gray bag of books. Her mind felt as if half-melted beholding his perfect cornflower hair under the bright lit autumn sky. She felt both guilt and paranoia float in her chest and she bit her tongue as incentive just to form her next coherent sentences.

"- Uh, I'm...going to detention. You of all people should know, doi."

Arnold's eyebrows fell with the subtlest edge of hostility as he responded, "I didn't think you would bother showing up."

Helga shrugged, being made uncomfortable by the acidity behind his words. She joked a little more honestly than she might have had it not been for the alcohol, "Of course I'd show up. It's all the peace and quiet I can't get at home." She laughed whilst second-guessing her choice of self-disclosure.

Arnold ignored the diversion, "I can't believe I have detention. I had plans with my friends and now I'm stuck here at school with you."

Helga inwardly winced at the blow to her ego, unintentional as it had been. Biting her tongue as she had learned recently was unfortunately necessary, she spoke in a softer voice she rarely used that carried a sense of sincerity," I usually don't get caught. Uh, I owe you one...or two, I guess since I said I owed you one for lending me the assignment in the first place, uh, sorry." She crossed her arms.

Arnold was grateful for Helga's small steps toward maturity. It relieved and stunned him at the same time. Feeling unable to maintain his frustration, he acquiesced a smile, "Well, at least I'll be able to get my homework out of the way."

Helga smiled uneasily as they made their way back into the main building together.

Arnold opened the door with Helga trailing behind, both immediately analyzing the malaise of student faces. Arnold stood stalk stiff, taking in the room as fully as he could at a glance. He recognized a kid in the second row, though his hood was up as a lazy attempt at hiding his headphones. He was carving into his desk with a pen and had a focused expression on his face.

Helga grabbed Arnold's wrist and pulled him toward the back row. He whispered pleadingly, "Helga?"

Helga returned, "Trust me. The back row is where you wanna be in detention." But Arnold had his doubts.

The room sat in a half-silence filled with the distant sounds of pencils drawing, erasures erasing, gum smacking, and off rhythm finger tapping. Arnold made for his backpack and pulled out his textbooks and binder, preparing to work the time away. Helga pulled out a single sheet, bent and unfolded, and began to draw.

The two sat in silence as they worked. Helga felt a wave of anxiety hit her from the extended silence, and she washed it down with a small sip from her vodka filled water bottle. As she fitted the bottle into her belongings she could have sworn she felt a pair of eyes watching her do it. Either Arnold had been watching, or she was paranoid.

Suddenly, A fat kid with greasy brown hair, and an over-washed green shirt let out a rank, sputtering fart. Two boys on the left side of the room bust up laughing, one covering his mouth in his sleeve and the other laughing into his desk. Arnold rolled his eyes, and Helga laughed.

The teacher rose from his seat in a surprisingly quick manner, and pointed at the two boys, "Hey, that's enough!"

The abrupt outburst from the teacher caused a second group of girls to laugh, and the laughter spread until their teacher barked, spitting as he yelled, "I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP!"

The room stiffened in fear and an eerie silence fell in the room. An Asian kid in the back row in a black-shirt coughed, and a whisper about spicy tuna made a few students giggle, and slowly but surely the room returned to its original state of half-silence.

Helga wrote on a corner of her own paper, tore the wedge off, and passed it to Arnold.

'I think that fat kid was just scarred for life.'

Arnold wrote simply, 'probably.'

He then tapped his pen on the desk, and remembered a curiosity that had just visited him moment's ago. He added to the note, asking boldly, 'uh, is your water bottle filled with alcohol? It smells.'

He passed it her way. She read and then cringed. There wasn't much use denying it, but that only left the choice of how to word oneself in reply. She chose brevity and humor to aid her response, 'yezzz :)'

Arnold worried for Helga, but chose not to voice it. He wasn't sure telling her to be careful and all that would really have as much an effect if it were on paper- if he told her at all. He tried not to think about it too much, though. It was her life, not his. Plus, she was never the most receptive person to criticism.

The rest of the period was wasted in daydreams and homework. Helga drew a picture of the teacher in a straightjacket, yelling at the class. Arnold finished his history assignment and began his math homework. After sixty minutes the teacher stood up and ushered them out in a slow, shuffling heard filled with chatter.

Arnold yawned and stretched his arms over his head, while Helga hurriedly packed, anxious to start the weekend. By the time Helga had packed her things carelessly into her bag Arnold had just started fitting his binder into his. Helga swung a gray strap over her shoulder and heaved herself upward.

"I guess it's the old dusty trail for me." Helga spoke absent-mindedly.

She seemed competent, but Arnold still felt that guilty twinge of worry for her well-being. He offered somewhat begrudgingly, "Hey, do you want me to walk you home?"

Helga's chest froze and she turned her head over her shoulders stiffly to reply, "If you want to..."

Arnold smiled and put his things away again while Helga rested her hands on her hips. They left the building and were greeted by a cool breeze and the dimming of the daylight sky that held the sun, smoldering red-orange just above the horizon. Autumn leaves whisked by them in the blustering winds, and they clutched themselves for warmth as they set forward.


	4. Chapter 4

The clouds were heavy, and densely packed as far as the eye could see. The deep gray blankets hung like ominous purveyors of fate- always looking down. Arnold and Helga walked through the desolate downtown area. Helga seemed unusually chatty, which Arnold attributed to her intoxicated condition. Arnold took the opportunity to quietly observe his friend, whilst taking care she didn't get herself into trouble, or far worse, danger.

Helga ranted on and on, gesturing broadly and emphatically, in meaningless, circular thought that seemed more like conversation one would pursue within oneself than aloud or than in company, "- Ooh, and here's a fun hobby you can take up any time you want to depress yourself- try counting seconds between every piece of trash you see on the streets. Every time you see a new piece of trash you start back at one. It's a great practice in misanthropy because you hardly ever make it into the double-digits!"

Arnold chuckled, entertained by her drabbles. His smile just about evaporated when he saw her scramble through her bag, however. He hoped, but his hopes weren't strong enough to make her pull out something other than her water bottle. It still had a little over a quarter vodka tonic remaining, and Arnold felt his stomach sink.

Helga unscrewed the cap, mindless of her actions. Arnold interjected, hesitant, but determined to at least attempt to salvage his friend's condition before they arrived at her home, "Helga, um, I don't think you should have any more."

She scoffed, rolling her head with her eyes and smiling like a coyote, a judgmental position already locked in her mind. She saluted Arnold sloppily with a mocking chuckle as she kept pace, "Ay ay, Captain conscience. Wouldn't want any fun to be had in this one horse town."

Arnold rolled his eyes calmly. A grimace of disapproval marked his features. It only figured her response would be laden with sarcasm and obstinacy. If only he had caught the lingering look she gave, in it a feeling of disappointment in herself. She drowned it, defiantly, in a hearty swig, and her features tightened as she cringed from the burning sensation that ran down her throat with a vengeance.

Arnold replied hotly, "You know, being sensible doesn't mean I don't know how to have fun."

The flaxen haired girl stopped in her tracks and drew a mischievous look that played out almost seductively, "Prove it."

Arnold froze up, feigning confusion, "Prove what? I was just trying to help. I'm just sorry you refuse to see it that way."

Helga kicked the front of her black converse tennis shoe against the sidewalk, trying not to react to his words, but instead to set the conversation on her terms, "You know **damn** well what I mean- show me a good time if you're so fun and well adjusted. Show me the _light_, football head."

Arnold looked to the cracked cement beneath his tired shoes, quietly brooding in his way. His eyes slowly drifting to the asphalt and the couple pot holes in the roadside lingering in his peripheral. And somewhere between logic and the concrete before him, he found himself remembering his conversation with his grandfather. A shadow fell over his features and Helga waited apprehensively for a response he seemed to enjoy withholding.

Helga snapped, impatient and frustrated by his needless silence, "Well? Are you gonna respond, or are you just gonna stand their like an idiot?"

He sensed an anxiety in her he rarely saw, but chose to ignore it. His greenish-blue irises flashed upward, sharply, "Give me that."

Helga felt a rush overcome her as Arnold brusquely invaded her space, and her breath froze in her lungs as he reached around her to grab her backpack and remove the item his hands sought. Before she could catch her breath she watched him greedily down the remaining quarter of the bottle in one fluid, bracing movement. She admired his jaw-line thrown back as he gulped down the remainder. She was entranced by his aggression; so foreign to his characteristic cool, and yet, she felt inexplicable intrigue.

When he had finished he blanched in disgust, but Helga's deep blue eyes remained transfixed, unmoving. He coughed and staggered, unprepared for the intensity of the drink, "Ack, it tastes like drainer fluid!"

Helga came to her senses, and laughed dryly, unable to hold back her own astonishment, "Haha, my god, Arnold! I didn't think you had it in you."

Arnold grabbed her wrist and pulled her in the opposite direction. She laughed again, this time to hide her uneasiness, "What are you doing, Arnold?...my house is that way."

Arnold stopped and turned, "You wanted me to show you a good time, right?"

Her eyes were dim until a spark of realization blew them wide, "Alright! Well, let's do this!"

The two walked back in the direction they came as a bellowing storm stewed above them. There was electricity in the air, and their steps became lively, though neither would admit they had no idea where they were headed that evening.

* * *

I apologize for my sporadic and seldom updates. I'm terrible with updating, but if you like the story enough, maybe you'll stick around anyway. If not, well, fuck it :)

[note: Helga's drunken thoughts about litter are my own. You should try it when you're on a walk by yourself. It really is hard to get into the double digits- there is so much trash EVERYWHERE! it's kind of depressing. I wish we could build a rocket and load it with our garbage and just jettison that shit off into space! I seriously don't understand why this isn't done...]


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